


Watch Me Burn

by LadyBlitzkrieg



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Haunted Houses, M/M, Priests, Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBlitzkrieg/pseuds/LadyBlitzkrieg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Love with sincerity. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good." Romans 12:9</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch Me Burn

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first work to be posted on this site. It's from 2010 but it's always been a piece I've been quite proud of. The editing may be a little shoddy, though, as i haven't really touched this story in about a year. But anyways, read and enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter Title credit 'My Girls' Animal Collective

# A Solid Soul and the Blood I Bleed

Looking around at the high vaulted ceilings, Frank pondered how he had ended up here, in a church, wedged between his mother and long-term partner. He hated the word ‘boyfriend’. His Sunday morning started like any other. He was woken up by the sound of thunder purring over their house, and the soothing hum of traffic wafting in and out of the open window. Gerard was dozing peacefully beside him, his mouth scrunched into a pout, hair still tangled from the night before. What was different about this morning, however, was the sound of keys jangling and someone walking in through their front door. Feeling a brief surge of fear, Frank bolted from the bed, grabbing an umbrella from the floor as he ran. But he didn’t find a burglar, rather his mother putting around their kitchen, wiping things down with a dirty washcloth. 

“Really, Frank, you would think I taught you how to clean up after yourself.” She reprimanded, tossing the dirty rag into the sink and starting to fiddle with the coffee machine. 

Frank just stood on the bottom step, gaping dumbly at her, polka-dot umbrella still firm in his clutches, “How the hell did you get in my house?”

“I have a key. And don’t swear at your mother,” she snapped, pouring a generous amount of grounds into the filter.

Shaking his head, Frank padded into the kitchen, settling down at the chipped table. He suddenly wished he was more hygienic, feeling a bit disgusted he’d have to watch his mother eat off a table Gerard was riding him on not even a week before. His mother smiled at him, leaning up against the kitchen counter, “So, aren’t you wondering why I’m here?”

Frank shrugged, tracing a rather large groove with his finger, “I figured you wanted to scare the living shit out of me, or y’know, cook us breakfast or something.”

His mother laughed, sounding both amused and offended, “As if I still love you that much. No, I came to wake you up to go to mass.”

Mass. Oh, the bane of Frank’s existence until his 20’s. “Ma… Gerard and I aren’t really the church-goer kinda couple. And besides, isn’t Sunday the day of rest?”

She rolled her eyes, poking through cupboards until she found of pair of mugs, filling them both with the steaming, black liquid, “You remember that boy, Ray Toro? He’s being ordained today.”

Frank grumbled, he remembered Ray, or rather how their parents forced the two boys to befriend each other despite their overwhelming differences. He, along with his two brothers, had been adopted during a mission trip by the deacon, and were practically raised in the church. Ray was shy and bookish, while Frank was more boisterous and adventurous. He also preferred GI Joe to Transformers, and Frank knew that it was a friendship that was never meant to be. He shrugged again; conversation wasn’t really his forte this early in the morning. 

His mother sipped from her mug, sitting across from Frank at the table. She didn’t catch him wincing. “Just come this once, please, it would mean so much to me.”

Frank really hated when his mother guilted him into things. It’s not like he _asked_ to be born. Or conceived for that matter. He was getting ready to lay out a long list of why he would never step foot into a church again, when the stairs creaked, and Gerard was standing there, staring at the two of them, shirtless and confused. 

“Uhh, morning Linda.” He croaked, trying to cover his bare chest with his arms. 

She smiled sweetly, cooing, “Good morning, dear. I made coffee.”

He smiled and crept back up the stairs to get dressed. Frank turned back to his mother, “You’re going to drag us there kicking and screaming, aren’t you?”

She simply nodded, her face filled by a simpering smile. And so there they we were, staring up at the alter as a gangly man with thick, curly hair was chanting in Latin over a gilded bible. Gerard was staring straight ahead, his face alight with interest. Once the man, now Father Ray, was finished, Gerard had to clench his hands around his thighs to keep from clapping. Frank found his attention diverted to a large stained glass window just to his left. It was maybe 20 feet tall, filled with every color imaginable, and depicted St. Anthony being tempted by demons in the desert. Why he was so infatuated with this picture he didn’t quite know, perhaps it was because it was his namesake, and that the man fought off demons in his search for enlightenment. The organ bellowed behind them, and Frank heaved himself to his feet. As he droned out the Apostle’s Creed, now forever engrained into his memory, he felt Gerard’s hand snake around his own, squeezing it softly. Overwhelmed by an urge to kiss him, and maybe even throw him over the pew and commit unmentionable acts, he smiled and began to study the glass St. Anthony once more. 

**+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~**

Now, finding himself surrounded by old women who were squawking and cooing over him, Frank wondered how his mother had not only managed to take him to church for the first time in 6 years, but got him to come and talk with all her friends afterwards. That was when he spotted Gerard, stirring sugar into his coffee, and groaned. Anywhere there was free coffee; Gerard wouldn’t be too far away. One woman, Mary Ann maybe, Frank had forgotten, giggled, “Oh, Frankie, you haven’t changed a bit since I’ve last seen you.”

Frank narrowed his gaze, “Yeah, still short and weird.”

The women laughed, though it sounded forced. Another one, this one dressed in a lavender dress, looked past Frank’s shoulder at Gerard, who was leaning against the wall, “Who’s your friend, Frankie?”

He felt his heart plummet into his chest. Had his mother told everyone he was gay, or were they all still under the impression Frank was some football star who had girls clinging to him like static. He gulped, now very interested in his paper cup, “Umm, that’s Gerard he’s my, uhh…”

“Boyfriend. Hi.” 

Frank turned his head, and there was Gerard, smiling widely and holding a hand out towards the women. They all made a noise that resembled an excited scream, but to Frank sounded like a pack of cats being pummeled. They each shook Gerard’s hand in turn, flooding him with questions about Frank and what he did and blah blah blah. The one in the lavender dress leaned towards Frank, smirking softly, “He’s a very pretty one, Frank. Don’t let him stray too far.” 

He smiled, a great feeling of relief washing over him. Okay, so he wasn’t completely ostracized by the church, or at least, his mother’s friends. Eventually, they grew bored and went off towards Linda to gossip, probably about Frank and his “pretty” boyfriend. Feeling that this would finally be his chance to escape, he started inching towards the door, his arm clasped around Gerard’s as he dragged him along, ignoring his half-hearted protests, but was stopped by a tall, muscular man staring down at him, his brown eyes alight. 

“Frankie… oh, shit is that really you?”

Frank looked up at the man, vaguely recognizing the face. He was stopped from flicking through his mental rolodex when Gerard blurted out, “Oh fuck, I _know_ you!”

It clicked for Frank too, this was Ray. Little Ray Toro all grown up and dressed in a black shirt and collar. He had grown rather significantly since Frank had last seen him, towering over the shorter man, smiling the entire time. Gerard, however, seemed more interested in babbling about how he knew Ray from somewhere. 

“I know I’ve seen you before… when I was in art school. Ugh, why is my memory such shit?!” he thundered, face clouded with confusion. 

Ray just shrugged; looking at Frank was an amused smile, as if he somehow knew the answer. Frank knew why Gerard had a shitty memory, he liked drugs and alcohol a little too much in his youth. Not that Frank could reprimand him; he had a bag of pot sitting in his sock drawer at home. 

“Nancy Drew!” Gerard finally blurted, looking pleased with himself, “You played guitar for Nancy Drew… I was dating the drummer, Tony, remember?”

Ray just laughed, nodding, his auburn hair bouncing around his face. Frank stared between them, dumbfounded, “Wait… you played guitar, in a _band_? And now you’re a _priest_?”

Ray, still as silent and stoic as ever, shrugged again, “I still play, just not for profit or anything. I, uhh, work for the Lord now.”

Filled to the brim with questions, Frank felt compelled to actually try and rekindle their feeble childhood relationship. Unfortunately, Gerard cut to chase, exclaiming, “We should go out tonight, and catch up!”

The two other men just stared at him and the way he rung with long, pale hands together, bouncing excitedly on his heels. Ray just laughed again, sounding genuinely interested, “Alright. I’ll be here at the church, obviously. How does 8 sound? I’ve got a 6 o’ clock mass, and of course, the evening prayers…” 

“8 sounds perfect,” Gerard beamed, dragging a confused and stammering Frank out the door. 

**+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~**

Linda was absolutely thrilled to know her sweet, little boy was trying to befriend Ray once again, and couldn’t stop gushing over him on the drive back to their house. Frank, well Gerard really, failed to mention they had only recognized one another after Gerard’s shoddy memory for past sexcapades. She dropped the boys off, kissing Frank sloppily and waving goodbye as she took off for her house. Gerard bounded into the house, going straight for his laptop and pulling up Wikipedia. 

“What on earth are you doing?” Frank questioned, taking a seat next to him on the couch, fumbling with his tie. 

Gerard smirked, and then hunched his shoulders, typing quickly into the search engine, “I wanna be a priest.”

“You’re gay,” Frank retorted, having moved on to trying to yank of his dress shoes.

“Yeah, well… so?”

“You don’t believe in God, either.” Frank concluded, propping his now socked feet onto the coffee table.

Gerard rolled his eyes, typing again, and making rather obnoxious clicking noises with the mouse, “Minor details…”

Laughing and shaking his head, Frank stood up from the couch, giving Gerard a chaste kiss before heading into the bathroom to shower and change into more comfortable clothes. But just as the water turned warm, and Frank began to relax, Gerard burst into the bathroom, rambling off facts he’d pulled from the website. He then began to rattle off the different links he’d clicked and how he found out about the different saints and how apparently St. Gerard took care of pregnant women or something of that nature and Frank just kind of stopped caring after a while. He pretended to be listening, muttering an occasional “that’s cool” and acting vaguely interested. If Frank had learned anything in his 3 year stint with Gerard, it was that the man craved attention, and was very proud of his ability to list facts and figures about useless subjects, like the mating habits of squid, or the ordination of priests. He’d also learned that the man was prone to spontaneity, and wasn’t at all surprised to find him naked and smiling in front him in the shower. Gerard was still rambling, though now in a lower, huskier voice, hands attaching themselves to Frank’s sides. 

“You wanna know what else I learned?”

Frank cocked an eyebrow, pursing his lips as Gerard sank to his knees, “What did you learn?”

Wordlessly, he licked his lips and began to trail kisses along Frank’s hips, his mouth outlining the birds that were perched along the protruding bone. He looked up at Frank, his wet hair pooling around his face like trails of black ink, making his face appear gaunt, and yet almost cherubic. Shifting forward, he swallowed Frank in a single, fluid motion, moaning softly around the heavy flesh. Frank stumbled back, hands splayed across the tile wall in an effort to keep himself upright. Gerard wasted no time with formalities, sucking swiftly, almost hungrily. Frank just stared down at him, his vision blurring from the steam and overwhelming pleasure. He could hear Gerard mumbling something around his length, and swallowed deeper, gagging a little. Frank whimpered, knocking over the shampoo bottle when his knees buckled, “Shit, baby… oh, shit.”

Gerard mumbled again, his voice box rumbling just below Frank’s tip, sending warm vibrations up his length and pooling into his stomach. But as quickly as he’d latched on, he pulled away, breathing heavily and staring up at Frank with wide, desperate eyes. He got up from his knees, arching his back and draping his right leg over Frank’s hip. Smirking, he pressed his face to Frank’s neck, trailing kisses up towards his ear, whispering, “Fuck me.”

Frank wasted no time in satisfying Gerard’s request, guiding himself in and keeping a firm grip on Gerard, digging his stubby fingernails into his pale hips. He pressed him against the shower wall, thrusting forward, shifting to the right until he could felt Gerard shudder and clench around him. Gerard laughed breathlessly, burying his head into the crook of Frank’s neck, “F-Fuckin’ Christ…” he whimpered, clenching up again and biting down onto Frank’s collarbone. 

Gerard wasn’t one for sadism and blood fetishes, but his oral fixation was kicked into overdrive whenever Frank was touching him, and he felt the need to bite and lick the nearest body part. Today it was scorpion that sat permanently poised on Frank’s neck. With a final, well-placed thrust, Frank was moaning into Gerard’s mouth, while Gerard was cumming across their bare stomachs. Panting and trembling, the post-coital couple stayed latched together, Frank still nestled inside Gerard. They barely even noticed that the once hot water had now run cold, and it wasn’t until Frank felt Gerard shivering that he bothered to pull out of him and turn off the water. They toweled off in silence, beaming whenever they caught the other’s eye. It wasn’t until they were dressed and back on the couch that Gerard bothered to speak. 

“So… I wonder what Ray wants to do tonight?”

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

“I still can’t believe you play guitar, I mean… I thought you’d be more of a clarinet kinda guy,” Frank mused, flicking the butt of his cigarette down the sidewalk. 

Ray just laughed, tugging his coat a bit closer to his body, “My older brother got me into it, he used to play Led Zeppelin and I just loved the way the guitar sounded. I had to learn how to do it.”

Gerard was walking behind them, eyes scanning the darkened streets for something new to entertain them. Before going out to eat, Frank had the bright idea of stopping at a drug store to pick up a couple of disposable cameras, should the inspiration arise to capture the night’s events. But most of the film had been used on Gerard’s drunken photographs of street signs he thought sounded funny. But what did stop him, however, was the façade of a stone angel, peering out at from the gnarled branches of an old maple. 

“Guys… hold on a second.” He called, walking closer to the eerie, white face. 

As he drew nearer, he could see a rusting fence tangled in the overgrown hedges, marking the perimeter to, as far as Gerard could tell, a very old cemetery. He heard footsteps behind him, and for a moment, considered vaulting himself over the fence. But Frank wrapped a hand around his waist, though Gerard couldn’t tell if it was out of affection or if he just knew Gerard was drunk enough to break into a graveyard. Ray was on his other side, looking out at the mismatched stone markers, “I’ve heard legends about this place.” He mumbled, narrowing his gaze. 

From a passerby’s point of view, it was an odd spectacle indeed. Two men, obviously a gay couple, and a priest, leaning over a fence and staring at an old pioneer cemetery. Looking back up at the angel’s face, Gerard snapped another picture, and stowed the camera in his sweatshirt pocket. “Frank, I love you,” was all he muttered, before grabbing a firm hold on the rickety fence and throwing himself over the bushes. 

When he landed, he felt all of the air being forced from his chest, and heard Frank squawking angrily behind him. With shaky arms, he pulled himself upright, smiling drunkenly and gasping for air. Within a few seconds, Frank was on the other side of the fence as well, pulling Gerard up and brushing the dirt off the back of his pants. “You’re fucking stupid, you know that?” he barked, a smile skirting around the edges of his mouth. 

They could hear Ray laughing behind them, then the sounds of rustling and metal squeaking in protest. When they turned, they were irked to find Ray walking through a hidden gate, clothes clean and bushes left untouched. 

“Shall we explore?” he asked, looking fondly at the angel statue, no longer hidden behind the tree. 

It was a fairly small cemetery, with only about 3 dozen headstones, all of which were very old and unkempt. Gerard walked up to one shaped like a Celtic cross, and ran his hand over the engravings, “Ryan Thomas Cooper. 1753 to 1776.” He read aloud, making a face of both shock and wonder. 

“He was only 23… I wonder if he died in the Revolution…” Frank mused softly, walking over to a moss covered grave not too far away. 

Gerard shrugged, circling around to a clump of graves that surrounded a cherry tree, its twisted roots upheaving the earth and toppling two of the graves onto their sides. Ray was at his side, staring at the markers quizzically, “They stopped using this plot after we gained independence, built that new cemetery downtown, the one off Pine.”

Gerard put his hands on his hips, “Is it just me, or it’s it awkwardly warm here?”

Frank, who was staring into a mausoleum, answered, “Yeah, and there isn’t even a breeze.”

Looking back at the angel statue, Ray smiled, “Like I said, I’ve heard legends about this place. About how it’s always warm and calm.”

Gerard knelt down at one of the graves, the smallest of the cluster, which was white and smooth from years of exposure, “How? There’s not many trees, and the building wouldn’t block the wind.”

Ray just smirked, and lifted his hand towards the Angel peering at them, “St. Michael. And we’re on consecrated ground. Legend says only good souls can pass through that gate, and that evil is kept out by St. Michael’s sword.”

Now feeling curious, Gerard stood up from the graves and walked over to the statue. It wasn’t very tall, maybe 6 feet, made of white marble. The angel’s face was that of a cool stare, both stern and serene. His wings were folded back behind his shoulders, tensed and unfurled, curling up towards the sky as if the archangel himself had landed on the pedestal and turned to stone. And in his right hand he held a long, broad sword, nearly half the length of his entire body, held close to his leg with the tip pointing north. Gerard crept closer to the angel, snapping pictures of its face. Ray watched him, leaned against the concrete pedestal, “You know the story of St. Michael, yes?”

“Course I do,” Gerard responded, tucking the camera back into his pocket, “Cast Satan and his followers from heaven. And he brings the souls from earth, and heals the sick. Or something like that.”

Ray laughed softly, “You have the first part right, which is the most important. St. Michael is God’s sword, so to speak. He keeps the damned in Hell and the righteous in Heaven.”

Frank had joined them at this point, also looking up at St. Michael’s pale, unmoving face, “What about us, then? How does God really feel about faggots?”

Ray winced at Frank’s choice of words, but assumed he was rather bitter about the subject of his everlasting soul. Taking a deep breath, he thought out the most rational way to explain things, “God… doesn’t care. At least I don’t think he would. See, he’s concerned on whether or not you help fellow man, and take care of yourself. He wants you to be happy, and in turn, make your neighbor’s happy. God is far more worried about the souls of the greedy and wrathful than that of a gay man who tries his best to do good with his life.”

Ray tucked his hands into his pockets, and much to Frank’s surprise, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, “I can’t really give you a better explanation than that. You can’t let man’s petty ignorance obscure God’s true desire.”

When he finished, Frank pursed his mouth into a tight line, and gave a satisfied grunt. They walked around the cemetery a bit longer, until Ray’s watch gave a small beep, and he looked down at it with a shocked expression, “Oh shit, I’ve got to get back to the Church. It’s already 1 am.”

They exchanged hasty goodbyes, and watched Ray slip back through the rusted gate and down the darkened street. The couple soon decided it would be best for them to return to their own house, and left the graveyard, making their way down the street towards their neighborhood. Gerard sighed happily, grabbing Frank’s hand and giving it a soft squeeze, “I’m glad we did that…” he muttered, looking up at the starry sky.

Frank shrugged his shoulders, “It’s nice to see Ray again,”

Gerard furrowed his brow, looking sideways at Frank, “You seem unhappy.”

Frank huffed, stopping and hunching his shoulders even further, “I dunno… I wanted to hear more than just ‘I _think_ he loves you’. I want to know why God is real, why men are horrible to each other. I want to know if all this is even worth it.”

Gerard had a hurt look on his face, “Do you think this is worth it?” he whispered, motioning to the air between them. 

Frank pouted, answering softly, “I hope so.”

Hurt, but mostly disappointed, Gerard kept to himself as they walked down the street. When they turned to head into their neighborhood, Frank stopped in front of a crumbling house at the end of the street. Gerard felt the tug on his hand, and turned, looking at the condemned building with confusion, “Why’d you stop?”

Frank edged closer, stepping onto the brown and weedy front lawn, “Let’s go inside… we’ve already been to one creepy place tonight.”

Gerard moaned in objection, he could see their street. Just 10 more minutes and he’d be home to a comfy couch and a cup of coffee. But Frank insisted, pulling on his hand and dragging him up the cracked walkway, “I just wanna look inside…” he begged, pulling a face that made him look so young and innocent Gerard couldn’t help but to cave.

They got up to the front porch, which groaned loudly under their weight, and Frank gingerly put his hand on the brass handle and pushed the door opened. It screeched in protest, revealing a dusty and disheveled foyer. Frank poked his head in, calling out a flamboyant “Hullo?” before deciding it was safe to enter and threw the door open. He crept in first, coughing a bit on the dust and squinting his eyes, “It’s really dark in here,” he complained. 

Gerard just scoffed behind him, and fumbled around his jeans pocket looking for his lighter. Holding it aloft, the small flame flickered threateningly, filling the room with a shifting orange glow. They stepped out into the living room, avoiding a large hole where the floor had rotted away. Looking up, Gerard could see a huge water stain, and a crevice where part of the first floor ceiling had fallen out, revealing the second floor above. Frank made a kind of awkward laugh, and began to play a very eerie melody on an out of tune piano up against the wall. Gerard crossed his arms, “Frank, don’t fuck with stuff like that. There’s probably spiders living in it anyways.”

Frank pulled his fingers away instantly, as if he had been burned, and gave a powerful shudder. He turned on his heel, glaring at the older man, “Don’t joke about shit like that!” he snapped, looking very shaken. 

Gerard just smirked, “Well, it’s true. And it’s what you get for breaking into condemned houses.” 

Frank pulled a skeptical face, “I didn’t see you trying to stop me.”

Gerard just rolled his eyes, wandering into an adjacent room, leaving Frank alone and in the dark. Cursing softly, he fished around for his own lighter, walking around the living room a bit more. The stairs that once stood at the end of the room were nothing more than a rotting pile of wood, and the door leading into the kitchen was hanging precariously off one rusty hinge, and Frank didn’t feel like risking paralysis that night. So, walking towards the window, he looked out into the backyard. It was fairly rudimentary. An old tool shed sagging in the corner, and a tire swing sitting stationary from a large oak tree. Feeling bored, he turned around and scanned the living room. It was free of furniture, aside from the piano, and only a few empty frames hung on the walls. The wallpaper was yellowed and peeling, revealing a reddish paint color underneath. Wincing at the loud creaks the floorboards made, Frank made his way down the hall, where Gerard had gone, but stopped when something carved into the floor got his attention. Crouching down and holding his lighter closer to his face, he made out a small pentagram burned into the wood. Frowning, he turned his gaze to the walls lining the hallway. 

“Stupid kids,” he muttered, and stood up to make his way further down the hall. 

But before he could take 2 steps, Gerard slammed into him, breathing harshly. Frank grabbed him by the shoulders, dropping the lighter from his hands and plunging them into darkness. Gerard shook softly in Frank’s arms, curling closer to him, “I wanna go home,” he whimpered.

Frank rubbed his back, squinting and trying to guide them out of the darkened house, “Okay… okay, we can go home now.”

Gerard nodded furiously, clinging to Frank as the maneuvered through the dark, not letting go until they were away from the house and standing out on the pavement, underneath a streetlight. Frank bit his lip at Gerard’s appearance, now worried for his well being. He was very pale and sweaty, with bags under his eyes and a trace of pain in his features. Reaching up to push the hair from his face, Frank asked, “What happened?”

Gerard looked back at the house, gulping, “I went in the room… there was this mirror and, I saw something. I dunno what.”

Putting a tender arm around his waist, Frank led Gerard down the street, whispering soft words of comfort until they were back in their home. Gerard moaned softly and darted into the bathroom, where Frank could hear him becoming sick. He sank down into the couch, feeling overwhelmingly guilty for suggesting going into the condemned building in the first place. But when Gerard emerged from the bathroom, he was no longer sweaty or ill looking, just a bit pale. Frank cracked a small smile, “All better?”

The elder nodded, and began to walk towards their bedroom, motioning Frank to follow. He stood up from the couch, eager to comfort his boyfriend. Sex was definitely in order tonight.  



End file.
